


Its Own Mark

by AngelQueen



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Infidelity, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds, Mother-Son Relationship, Rachel Faucette Lives, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: "... see Alex and his mother bed-ridden, half-dead sittin' in their own sick, the scent thick. And Alex got better but his mother went quick."But what if she didn't?In a world where Rachel Faucette survived to follow her son onto a ship that was New York-bound, to see the American experiment begin, Alexander Hamilton has someone watching out for him and his family even in his most hectic days. Whether it makes any difference in his hurricane of a life remains to be seen."... love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark."-J.K. Rowling
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Rachel Faucette Buck & Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	Its Own Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel Faucette was born in 1729 and, historically, died in 1768. If she had lived, then she'd be in her early sixties by the time this story takes place. It's conceivable that she could have lived to that age (heck, Eliza still had thirty-plus years to go when she was that age). 
> 
> The story is mostly set against the events of the musical, though with a small dash of history thrown in here and there.

The evening light barely illuminated the front door as Rachel slipped the key into the keyhole, turning the lock. Alexander and Eliza had both insisted, years ago, that she have a key to their home and that she feel free to use it whenever she needed. Rachel had been grateful for it, glad to know that she was so trusted and welcomed by her son and daughter, but had also tried not to use it too often, not wishing to intrude upon their privacy. Even after a decade of marriage, she could see the love and passion that surrounded them, and there were some things a woman did not wish to know about her children.

Tonight, however, she had no reservations about using it, and making as much noise as she wished. Eliza’s departure with the children and Angelica earlier that day had left Rachel with the open field to implement their plan. Alexander’s lackadaisical efforts in seeing his family off had only helped their cause, as it allowed him to remain under the belief that Rachel had traveled with them.

* * *

_“Are you certain about this, Mother?” Eliza asked, eyeing her uncertainly._

_“Of course, dear,” Rachel replied as she folded a pair of Philip’s breeches and laid them neatly in the trunk. “I won’t deny I was looking forward to the trip, but I agree with you that someone needs to look after that foolish son of mine. It is no fault of yours that Alexander is so engrossed in his work that he refuses to take a break even when your sister crosses an entire ocean for a visit.” She smiled at the younger woman, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I do not wish for you to miss out on Mrs. Church’s excellent company, and there will be many other opportunities for me to visit your good mother. In the meantime, there are always letters.”_

_Eliza returned the smile, though it in no way banished the sadness that flickered through her lovely dark eyes. It was an expression that Rachel had become far too accustomed to seeing on her daughter’s face, and it hurt even more to know that it was her son that was the cause of it more often than not._

_Sometimes she thought that Alexander had forgotten in just how lucky he had gotten when this young woman had fallen in love with and consented to marry him. Not because of the raised status in society that she brought to him, but for her own kind, patient, and loving temperament. Rachel was more than aware of how important her son’s work was – she herself had fought just as much as he had, in her own way, for the right to see this government built – but she believed that he had utterly failed in seeking some kind of balance between his work and his family._

_If he had ever really tried at all._

_Taking a deep breath, Rachel turned back to the trunk, saying, “Now, what has Philip done with his stockings?”_

* * *

Entering the house, Rachel found it almost completely dark, save for the faint light spilling out of Alexander’s study, where the door had been left ajar. Sitting her bag on the floor, Rachel closed the door and locked it carefully behind her before making her way towards that light.

There was no time to hesitate. She was dealing with her stubborn, sometimes intractable son, after all. 

She pushed the door open, allowing her a better look into the room. It was well lit by several candles, giving the space a warm, comfortable glow. Her eyes quickly found the desk, and there was her son, hunched over as he wrote like a man possessed. Even from the doorway, she could see stress lines running across his brow, and the dark circles around his eyes.

Rachel sighed. Her son truly did need a break, she thought. He should have gone upstate with his family, and allowed that time to restore his strength. She became even more convinced of that when he evidenced no sign of having noticed her arrival. Raising an eyebrow, she spoke up. “Alexander.”

Even the sound of her voice did not bring him out of his work. “Hmm?” he hummed absently, his pen not pausing at it flew across the page. 

This was not an unfamiliar sight to her, but it was still irritating. Rachel could imagine that Eliza too was used to such behavior. But whereas a wife would submit or indulge her husband in such behavior, a mother was entitled to further respect from her son. “Alexander!” she repeated his name, louder and sharper. 

It worked this time. The pen came to an abrupt halt and Alexander looked up, blinking in surprise. “Mama?” He stared at her. “What? How are you here? You were supposed to go with Angelica and Eliza and the children this morning.”

That was true. Rachel had been looking forward to leaving New York for a time, to spend time in the cooler climes of the area outside of Albany and watch her grandchildren frolic amid the trees and gardens, and to spend time with Catharine Schuyler. Eliza’s indomitable mother had been a friend to Rachel for a long time. Alexander had married Eliza in the last days of 1780, but Rachel had not had the opportunity to become acquainted with them until the following year, when she had been forced to flee New York and the British accusations of spying on them for the Patriots. The accusations had been true, of course. Rachel had been an informant in Mr. Schuyler’s network, but first and foremost, Rachel was family. Her son was their son, their daughter was her daughter. For the Schuylers, there was nothing more important than family. 

It was a sentiment that Rachel shared, and had been a solid foundation in forming a friendship in the formidable Catharine. They did not see one another often, but they wrote to one another frequently. When Mrs. Church had written to the family over the winter that she was planning to visit, Rachel and Catharine had both thought it the perfect opportunity to gather their shared children and grandchildren at the Pastures.

But those plans had come to an abrupt halt when Alexander had informed Rachel, Eliza, and Mrs. Church that he would not be joining them upstate. That he had to focus on getting his debt plan through Congress, and could not do that from Philip Schuyler’s grand country home near Albany.

“I had intended to go with them,” she told him with a withering look. “But when you declared that you would not be joining us, Eliza and I agreed that someone had to stay behind to look after you. And since I would not dream of asking Eliza to forfeit a visit with a sister she so rarely gets to see, it was only right that I volunteer to do so.”

Alexander shook his head and stood up from his desk. Rachel could hear the faint cracking in of his stiff joints. Clearly he had not moved in some time. “Really, Mama, you should have gone. I am a grown man, and can look after myself.” He returned her stern gaze with his own. “I have been doing so for many years now.”

She could well imagine that such an expression could incite his minions in government to cower or rush to obey his every command, and how it had probably caused soldiers to jump to his every barked order during the Revolution. But Rachel was, first and foremost, Alexander’s mother. She’d fed him at her breast, cleaned his bottom and changed his clouts when he was an infant. She had raised him, and taught him as a child. She had never been cowed by such looks from her son before, and she was not about to start now.

It did help her case, though, when a low, mournful growl emerged from Alexander’s belly. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you can, can you?” she asked with some impish amusement. “When did you last eat something, _mon cher_?”

* * *

Staying with her son really wasn’t really much of an inconvenience, truthfully. Alexander spent most of the day at the Treasury, while Rachel oversaw her store, as she always did. She did make sure to return to the house a little earlier, so that there was a meal ready for when Alexander arrived home at the end of the day. Most of the time, she managed to direct him to eat at the dining room table, rather than at his desk. On occasion, Rachel was even able to coax him into coming into the parlor, where they sat together at the pianoforte, playing old tunes from his childhood. 

But those were rare cases. Typically, upon finishing his meal, he would closet himself in his study and bury himself in his work.

When that happened, Rachel knew better than to try and argue with him. Instead, she adapted her tactics, refusing to allow him to isolate himself. After seeing to the cleaning in the kitchen and that the hired girl was dismissed for the night, Rachel would take up her lap desk and push her way into Alexander’s study. Once inside, she would settle into the large armchair by the fireplace and pull out her own work – her account books, correspondence with her suppliers, inventory lists, or even letters to Eliza. The room would remain silent, save for the scratch of pens on paper. 

Alexander would work late into the night. Rachel could rarely match him in that stubborn determination and would inevitably stop and gather up her writings so that she might go to bed. Still, she liked to think that her presence had had some impact on her son, for when she did, Alexander often took a moment and stop. He stood up and come around his desk, taking her into his arms and hugging her tightly. “ _Bonne nuit, Maman_ ,” he murmured into her silver-laced hair, and kissed her cheek.

Alexander had never been shy of conveying his affection to those he loved, and such an expression never failed to make her smile. She reached up and patted his cheek lovingly. “ _Bonne nuit, mon fils_ ,” she’d respond softly.

He then returned to his work while she retired. Rachel knew her son was still stressed and frazzled over his plans, but she was hopeful that she was helping him, even if only by keeping him healthy enough to continue his work. 

Perhaps she could write to Eliza and ease her daughter’s worries now.

* * *

The knock on the door came late one evening. Rachel had given up working on her accounts and had instead taken up some mending. While such chores were hardly her favorite pastime, she recognized their need, and Rachel did not feel right in leaving multiple garments in need of darning to wait until Eliza returned home. Looking up at the sound, her eyes met her son’s.

“Who could that be at this hour?” she asked him. 

Alexander clearly had no answer, but he stood up. “I’ll see to it,” he said. “It is most likely government business.”

Rachel watched him leave with a raised eyebrow. Government business, at well past ten o’clock at night? Surely not. 

She returned to her work, though she kept her ears focused on the voices coming from the hall. She could hear her son’s smooth tones, and the responding pitch of… a woman? What was going on? Surely, this woman could not be a messenger of some kind.

Rachel sat the darning down into the basket that sat beside her chair, intending to rise and see what was happening for herself, when the door to the study opened. A young woman appeared in the doorway, clad in a respectable, if a little faded, red dress, with lovely dark curls piled upon her head, a few wisps falling about the sides of her face. The woman’s blue eyes swept over the room as she stepped inside, taking in the furnishings, the papers scattered on Alexander’s desk, the candles lit throughout the room. They then met Rachel’s own gaze and almost immediately dropped, but not before she caught the surprise flashing through them. Nor did she miss the tightening of her painted lips. 

Alexander followed along behind the young woman, closing the door behind him. He gestured toward Rachel, saying, “This is my mother, Mrs. Faucette.” With the ease of long practice, Rachel resisted the urge to smirk a little at the courtesy title of ‘missus’. She had not been a missus in decades, and had never been a Mrs. Faucette at all. Still, her son insisted on it, and most people she met were willing to go along with it, at least to her face. She didn’t bother thinking about what people said about her out of her hearing, particularly Alexander’s many political foes. 

“Mother,” Alexander continued, “this is Mrs. Reynolds.”

Rachel nodded. “Mrs. Reynolds, welcome,” she murmured.

Mrs. Reynolds nodded, an uncertain expression coming across her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you at home, sir,” she said, her gaze turning back to Alexander. “You are known to all as a man of honor, and I don’t know where else to turn to.” Her eyes seemed to both glisten and glow in the candlelight.

What followed was a terrible, horrid tale, and one Rachel herself was rather familiar with. A faithless ne’er-do-well for a husband who had no compunctions about committing adultery, and for beating his wife when he was intoxicated, or just whenever the mood struck him. A husband who had vanished, leaving his wife penniless and with a small child to support. 

It was not an exact parallel to Rachel’s own life and her relationship with Johann Lavien, but it was close. Very close. And by the expression on Alexander’s face, he too saw it, if the way his eyes were darting between Mrs. Reynolds and herself was anything to go by. The way his features were visibly softening into the portrait of deep sympathy said everything, that he too was thinking of Lavien and the stories Rachel had told him when he was young. 

And yet… Rachel’s eyes returned to the young woman. There was something… _off_ about this whole situation. She didn’t doubt the woman’s story, Rachel was very good at spotting a battered, abused woman, and Mrs. Reynolds exhibited many of the signs. Still, why come seeking help at night? Alexander received petitioners at all hours during the day, at his office, and even after he had come home, though still during daylight. Why come so late?

When the woman’s story came to a stuttering halt, Rachel saw the flood of tears in her eyes. Hurriedly, she stood up and took the younger woman’s arm. “Here, dear,” she said, using the tone she often utilized to soothe sick or hurt grandchildren, “please sit.” She carefully led her to sit in the chair Rachel had just vacated. Not taking her eyes off of Mrs. Reynolds, she called behind her, “Alexander, I believe there is some cider in the larder. Please, go and pour some for our guest.” She carefully kept herself between Mrs. Reynolds and Alexander, shielding the woman’s distress from her son. 

“Y-Yes, of course,” Alexander replied, sounding shaken. He left the room quietly, leaving the two of them alone. 

Rachel plucked her handkerchief from her pocket, and held it out to Mrs. Reynolds, who took it and dabbed at her eyes. As the young woman composed herself, Rachel asked, “How long has your husband been gone?”

Mrs. Reynolds blinked, seemingly startled by the question. After a moment, she responded, “About a month or so.” She looked down at her hands, which were now twisting the handkerchief in her lap. “He doesn’t usually stay away that long, no more than a fortnight.”

Rachel nodded and asked a few more questions, seeking more information, which the younger woman gave readily enough. Of most interest to Rachel was the discovery that the young woman’s daughter was close in age to little Angelica. They continued to speak quietly until Alexander reappeared carrying a tray with three glasses on it. Mrs. Reynolds took the one offered to her and drank from it gratefully. Rachel and Alexander followed suit. Once they finished, Alexander spoke up.

“Do you have any family here in the city, Mrs. Reynolds? Anyone with whom you could find shelter?”

Mrs. Reynolds, who was still seated, looked up at him and Rachel couldn’t help but notice that her eyes had widened just slightly, and that they had again taken on a glassy sheen, even though she had been perfectly calm not a moment before. 

“No, sir. My family has scattered in recent years. The closest would be my sister. She lives in Poughkeepsie with her husband, Mr. Gilbert Livingston,” she said, holding his gaze for a moment, and then ducking her head. Rachel could even see the faint blush spread across her cheeks, and a sense of unease bloomed in her stomach. 

She turned her gaze to her son, and felt that apprehension grow. His expression was a mixture of kindness and pity, which was only natural given what he had heard, but Rachel could also see the flicker of… of _interest_ amid the exhaustion in his eyes.

 _Oh, no._ This was not going to happen. Not on Rachel’s watch. 

Before Alexander could say anything further, Rachel turned back to Mrs. Reynolds. “Of course, we would be glad to assist you, dear,” she assured her in the kindest voice she could muster. “But I’m afraid nothing can be done until morning. Once the business day begins, we will be able to arrange a loan to aid you in returning to your family.” She looked back at her son. “Isn’t that right, Alexander?”

Her son was giving her a strange look, but thankfully knew better than attempt to argue with her in front of a stranger. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “By the end of the day tomorrow, everything should be arranged.” His eyes – and now Rachel remembered a different pair of eyes and how they had raked appreciatively over many feminine forms, be they those of married women or harlots on the street _no don’t think about that don’t think about James_ – returned to Mrs. Reynolds. “Are you in danger of being thrown from your current accommodations?” he asked her.

A chill swept through her. Rachel hadn’t thought to ask that. If the girl in front of her was about to be expelled from the boarding house she and her child were staying in, then she did not doubt that Alexander would offer her shelter here and that was the last thing that could happen. But there would be no way to stop him from doing so, no way –

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head and Rachel offered up a silent but grateful thanks to God. “I’m paid up until the end of next week,” she replied. “My husband prefers – preferred – to pay in advance.”

Alexander nodded, and then turned to his desk. Grabbing his pen and a sheet of paper, he held them up. “If you could provide your address, I can deliver your funds to you tomorrow evening, if that is acceptable to you.”

The younger woman’s cheeks seemed to darken even further and she offered him a tremulous smile as she breathed, “You’re too kind, sir.” She then rattled off her address, and Rachel recognized it as one that was but a short walk from the house.

Alexander’s pen flew over the paper in a fast scribble. Looking at Mrs. Reynolds, he said, “It is late, far too late to be walking the streets alone. May I escort you back to your lodgings?”

Rachel could guess the younger woman would not refuse his offer, and was proven correct when she ducked her head and murmured a few words of bashful gratitude. Gritting her teeth, Rachel forced a smile. “I shall accompany you as well,” she said. “I would like to hear more of your daughter, Mrs. Reynolds. I should be able to procure a few items for her for the journey.”

There. Rachel saw it. Only for a moment, but it was there. The tightening of the lips, the irritation in the eyes, all of it covered quickly by a mask of congeniality and gratitude. 

There was far more to this woman than what was readily apparent, and Rachel did not like what her own instincts were suggesting. 

The three of them left the house together and walked at a leisurely pace down the street. As Alexander had said, it was late, and thus there were few people about. This was one of the more affluent neighborhoods of the city, and thus less likely to be frequented by the more obvious ladies of the evening or other idlers. Still, as Rachel walked along arm-in-arm with Alexander, she could feel her hackles rise. 

They were being watched. 

Rachel had been a spy during the Revolution. She had lived for years honing the skills one needed to pass unnoticed. Her sex aided her in that, as few men recognized the value of what women had between their ears, but she had taught herself to take advantage of it. More importantly, however, she had also learned to know when someone had their eyes fixed upon her, and how to not indicate that she felt those eyes. 

She did not flinch. She did not look around warily. She did not tug on Alexander’s arm to raise the alarm. 

She kept going, and filled the night air with her questions about Mrs. Reynolds’ daughter. The younger woman, who held onto Alexander’s other arm, answered her questions willingly enough, though Rachel thought that there was a sullen quality to the girl’s tone. Young Susan Reynolds, it appeared, was a sweet little girl who loved her doll, Missy May. It had been some time since she had had any new clothing, as her father had not budgeted for such expenditures before he left, and what little money they did have went toward their more immediate expenses. 

Still, even as they walked, the feeling of being observed did not leave Rachel. Thankfully, the trip was not a long one. They came to a halt in front of a snug boarding house, completely dark save for the flicker of candlelight in one or two of the windows.

Mrs. Reynolds stepped forward, looking up at the building. “This one’s mine, sir,” she said, and then turned toward them. Her eyes fixed themselves upon Alexander. “Again, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and generosity. I shall forever be in your debt.”

Alexander offered her a gallant bow. “It is no hardship to be of use to a lady in distressed circumstances, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said. “I will return tomorrow with your loan, and we will see you out of the city and back to the safe harbor of your kin.”

The young woman offered him one last tremulous smile before slipping inside, leaving Rachel and her son alone on the street. They started on their way back home, and as they went, Rachel saw Alexander look towards her. She easily spotted his intention to speak, but she cut him off by letting loose a stream of inane chatter and squeezing his arm, a warning not to interrupt.

“That poor dear,” Rachel babbled as they walked. “I will make sure to pick a few things out from the store to bring for her and her little one before you return tomorrow. It is so terrible, to be abandoned by such a faithless rogue…”

Rachel was grateful that her son, who had gone on to achieve such grand heights in his career, who commanded the attentions of so many great men in this new country, was still willing to trust his mother and follow her lead. He did not disturb her prattle as they walked home together, merely playing along and making all the appropriate responses.

Finally, they arrived back home. Once the door was closed and locked securely behind them, Alexander turned toward her, his eyes narrowed and determined. “Really, Mama,” he chided, “what _was_ that all about? You were twittering about as much as your granddaughter’s parakeets!”

Shrugging her shawl off and hanging it beside the door, Rachel shot her son a sour look. “Thank you, dear, for that lovely comparison,” she snipped. “For your information, it was necessary. We were being observed.”

Alexander had started moving toward his study, but that declaration stopped him in his tracks. “What?” he said, shock crossing his face. “Whatever do you mean?”

She gave him a stern look. “Was I in any way unclear, Alexander? There were eyes upon us nearly from the moment we left this house with Mrs. Reynolds until we returned.”

A doubtful gleam entered his eyes. “Mother, I hardly think –”

Rachel cut him off. “ _Mon fils_ ,” she said with a patience that she did not really feel, “you fought in the war with your words and with your sword and guns. I fought in dark shadows and silence with my eyes and ability to observe and understand others. One learned very quickly to know when there were eyes upon you, or one did not last very long as a spy.” 

The skepticism in Alexander’s gaze began to fade into concern. “You’re certain?” he asked, glancing at the locked front door, as if he could peer right through the thick oak and see anyone who might be lurking about the front of the house. 

When Rachel hummed her agreement, he looked back at her. “Is Jefferson really _that_ threatened by me, to actually have me followed?” he asked her incredulously. 

Rachel fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course her son’s first conclusion would be that his political rival – not to mention personal rival for President Washington’s attention – had placed him under observation. Fighting a sigh, she merely shook her head. “No,” she told him, “I doubt it was any paid agents of Secretary Jefferson.” She pursed her lips. “I’m inclined to believe that those eyes had more to do with Mrs. Reynolds.”

Alexander blinked. “Mrs. Reynolds? Why would someone be watching her?”

Rachel didn’t immediately answer him. Glancing first at the door, and then the windows on either side of it, she instead nodded toward the doorway that led into the parlor. While Alexander’s study was on the front of the house, and thus visible to anyone who walked by, the parlor was tucked behind that room. They would not be observed there, especially by anyone who might be able to read lips. That particular ability wasn’t one that Rachel had been able to pick up with any skill, but she knew that many people in the business of espionage did. 

_Funny how easy it is to fall back into paranoid habits_ , Rachel thought as she led the way into the parlor, Alexander following along in her footsteps.

Removing themselves from the front hall also gave her time to consider how to best answer Alexander’s question. “There were several reasons why someone might be watching Mrs. Reynolds,” she said. The question, she thought, was which reason to give her son. One reason would surely offend his sensibilities as well as his sense of honor, not to mention hurt him deeply when he realized that she even thought he would behave in a particular manner. Rachel had no desire to hurt her child.

Once they seated themselves on the chaise, Alexander looked at her expectantly. With no time left, Rachel chose to speak of the other reason she had thought of. “You heard Mrs. Reynolds’ tale, Alexander,” she reminded him, “about her husband’s behavior.”

A shadow crossed her son’s expression. “Despicable,” he growled. “To treat his wife in such a manner – to treat _any lady_ in that way – he clearly has no honor.” He sniffed. “It reminds me of Arnold’s abandonment of his wife.”

Rachel winced at the mention of Peggy Shippen Arnold. Though it had been close to a decade, that incident was still the stuff of legends. Everyone remembered the stories of that woman’s theatrical performance after her husband’s betrayal of the Patriot cause. What many did not remember was the later rumors that she had actually put on a show that fooled not just Alexander, but also General Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette, into believing that she herself had had no part in Arnold’s perfidy. Among many women of society, the story had actually become a source of amusement, showing how men underestimated the resourcefulness and abilities of women.

Putting the thought out of her mind, Rachel focused on Alexander. “Violent men like that are also often jealous men, _mon fils_ ,” she told him. “From what she said, this isn’t the first time Mr. Reynolds has abandoned her in dire straits, whatever her claims of him not leaving her for overly long periods. He may well have friends of his watching his wife, to catch her out at any… untoward behavior.”

“Untoward behavior…” Alexander repeated and, to his credit, saw what she meant. He grimaced. “Like visiting the home of a man who, for all that she knew, was alone and without his wife or family present.”

Rachel nodded. “Exactly. Which is why it is very important that I accompany you tomorrow evening. If they are still watching her, they will be able to see that Mrs. Reynolds was visited by a gentleman and an older woman, and not by a gentleman alone. My presence will imply a certain amount of chaperonage, and they – or her husband, should he learn of our visit – will be less inclined to think that she was… _entertaining a guest_.”

Alexander flinched at the phrase, but did not deny its accuracy. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Perhaps we shall go after supper?”

“Agreed,” she replied, and then stood up. It was quite late, and she would have much to do the following day. 

However, as Rachel moved toward the door, intending to retire to her room for the night, Alexander’s voice stopped her. “Mama, you said there were multiple reasons. What other reason could there be for someone to be spying upon Mrs. Reynolds?”

Rachel tried not to sigh. She’d hoped he had been sufficiently distracted by the reason she had given him. Her son, however, was very perceptive, particularly where she herself was concerned. They had been with only one another’s company for so long that they became very adept at reading one another’s moods, and it was a skill neither of them left unsharpened. 

She turned back to him. Alexander was still seated upon the chaise, and his eyes were on her, sharp and unblinking. He would not be put off, then, she realized resignedly. Taking a deep breath, she stated, “It could also be that Mrs. Reynolds herself set people to watch, so that they might see you accompany her back to her boarding house. Perhaps she planned to invite you inside, and they would have seen you do so. Only she did not count on my presence.”

His eyes widened. “Surely not,” he breathed. “Surely a lovely creature such as her would not resort to…” He trailed off.

 _’Lovely creature’?_ Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Seducing you and then blackmailing you afterward?”

Alexander reared back, as though she had slapped him. “Mama!” he protested. “I would never do… that…” Again, he let his sentence hang, though this time she couldn’t tell if it was because he was offended by the idea, or something else. 

She stared at him. For Alexander, charming the fairer sex came as naturally to him as breathing. He had won Eliza’s heart quite thoroughly during their courtship, and their mutual devotion had only grown deeper with the passage of time. However, that did not mean that Rachel was blind to his ways with other women. He could make women fawn over him with little effort on his part. She saw his deep, emotional connection to Mrs. Church. Rachel thought it inappropriate, particularly since they both tried to keep it from Eliza. But Eliza was not blind, Rachel knew. She saw it all too clearly. If she made no objection, then Rachel would hold her peace.

But the fact remained that Alexander had an eye for the ladies. Rachel had seen what she had seen – the interest, the _desire_ , when he had locked eyes with Mrs. Reynolds. 

“I am not _Lavien_ , Mama,” Alexander said, cutting into her thoughts, his expression full of both anger and hurt. “I would not take advantage of a woman, nor be led blindly around by my baser instincts!”

Rachel continued to gaze at her son. “No,” she said slowly, “no, you are not Johann Lavien.” 

_But you are so much like your father._

Part of her wanted to say it. She had often wondered if she had done her son a disservice, letting him think that all the evils of her life had stemmed from her marriage to Lavien. It was true that many had, but hardly all of them. 

_“I hadn’t slept in a week, Rae,” James said, his face a mask of regret as he reached out to her. “I was weak.”_

How many times had James said that to her? How many times would he be gone for weeks, following what work he could find, and then come home smelling of a whore’s cheap perfume?

James too had had a keenness for women, and he had passed that on to their son. Given his current overworked, exhausted state, Rachel could not look at Alexander and say with any honesty that he would have refused a chance to take Mrs. Reynolds to bed if an offer had been made.

As she looked at her son, however, the words lodged in the back of her throat. Though she knew part of him resented his father for his choice to abandon the family, it did not stop him from maintaining an occasional correspondence with James, or from sending him funds periodically. Rachel could not begin to guess what they wrote about, and she honestly did not wish to know. If there had ever been any hope of her and James reconciling, it was long past. 

Unaware of the turn her thoughts had taken, Alexander stood up. “You should get some rest,” he said to her. “I should get back to work.”

He made to slip past her, but Rachel caught him by his arm. “No, _mon cher_ ,” she said. “You need to get some sleep.” When he started to protest, she shook her head. “You will need your wits about you tomorrow, both at the Treasury and for what we will be doing tomorrow night. If the watchers are still there, it is possible we may be confronted. You will need to be on your guard and not half-asleep.”

Some of the tension in his posture eased, but she could still see the stubborn tilt to his head. “Please, Alexander,” she whispered, “don’t argue with your _maman_. Not tonight.”

A few seconds of silence passed, and then, finally, he bowed his head. “Very well,” he murmured, and allowed her to lead him upstairs. 

Once Rachel had readied herself for bed, she lay awake for a time, listening for any hint that Alexander might attempt to slip back downstairs. When she heard the faint sounds of snoring coming from his bedroom, she sighed with relief and closed her eyes.

* * *

Though they both had much to do in the day ahead of them, Rachel insisted that they sit down to breakfast together before getting on with it. As they ate, Alexander told her, “I’ve scraped together what money I have here in the house – thirty dollars. I was going to gather it last night and give it to Mrs. Reynolds then, but you interrupted me before I could make the offer.”

Rachel scraped a bit of butter onto her bread. “I imagined you would have,” she said. “And I did so on purpose. No sense in letting a stranger know that you keep that kind of money here. It’s an invitation to having your home invaded by thieves.”

He looked as though he wished to argue – perhaps defend the neighborhood’s reputation for keeping out the less desirable elements of society, perhaps to defend Mrs. Reynolds from the unspoken accusation of being in league with thieving rogues – but after a moment thought better of it. 

“Besides,” she added, “it’s better that you keep those funds here, in case of an emergency. Still, is thirty enough to get her to Poughkeepsie?”

Alexander didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a cautious sip of his steaming coffee. Sitting the cup down, he agreed, “Most likely. There should even be a little left over in case she runs into any unexpected delays or expenses before she can locate her sister’s residence.”

Rachel nodded, considering it. “Better to make it forty then, just to be safe,” she replied. “I have enough in my own accounts to cover half.” Twenty dollars wasn’t exactly pocket change, but it wouldn’t gouge her son’s savings. Still, Alexander was living on a government salary and had a wife and growing children to support, and his first priority should be to maintain their needs. Rachel did not live extravagantly, and so was more than capable of assisting in this endeavor. “I’ll also write off a few items at the store to provide for them,” she added. Feminine sundries were probably in need, as well as other practical items, but Rachel didn’t bother to elaborate. Her son didn’t need to know. Even if he had a daughter himself, there were some things men just did not think of.

They left the house soon after, and she was pleased to notice that Alexander made a concentrated effort in locking the house up tight. Perhaps Rachel’s reminder of that there were vagrants in the world had put Alexander on his guard. The bank they used was a short distance from the house, so they stopped there together to withdraw the funds they needed, but then parted ways after.

The rest of Rachel’s day was spent overseeing the store. Her employees were all excellent workers who had more than proven their loyalty and work ethic, so they did not require minute supervision, but Rachel hadn’t spent decades clawing her way up in business by being careless. Minding the books, particularly the recording of what was purchased on credit and by whom, was an essential task. 

It wasn’t until about an hour before the store closed that Rachel began to gather the items she intended to gift to Mrs. Reynolds. Taking up a large basket, she filled it with various practicalities that a young woman would need, as well as items that would be of use to her daughter. The girl was nearly six years old, so that meant that she would not be in need of clouts, which would make traveling with the child much easier. Still, she made sure to add plenty of cleaning cloths, and even one of the small rag animals that a young woman made and sold through the store, with Rachel taking a small percentage of the profit. Children tended to love them, and they were not expensive enough to make parents refuse to buy one on occasion.

She also added a few dry goods to the basket as well. While traveling by stage meant stopping at various inns that would provide food, such things meant spending more money. Providing Mrs. Reynolds with some easily packed foods to take on the trip would help her conserve the funds she would have at her disposal. 

Walking home from the store was often one of Rachel’s favorite times of the day. The crowds in the street had thinned out a little, leaving mostly people who, like her, were on their way home. There were also married couples who would take an evening stroll together. Rachel knew that Eliza often wished to take these walks with Alexander, but it happened rarely due to her son’s preoccupation with his work.

Hopefully, it would be something she could nudge her son into taking notice of. She had never doubted his love for his wife, had seen an adoration in his eyes whenever he looked at her that Rachel had seen for no one else. Perhaps she could encourage him to set aside time a few days out of the week to spend with just Eliza. Her daughter would love that, to be the focus of Alexander’s undivided attention.

As Rachel turned a corner, beginning the final leg of the journey to her son’s home, her neck began to prickle uncomfortably. She narrowed her eyes, and then dropped her reticule. As she stopped to retrieve it, Rachel carefully swept her eyes over her surroundings.

There. She spotted a tall, thin man standing at the edge of an alley, leaning against the wall of the building and rolling what looked like a coin over his fingers. He stuck to the shadows, but there was still more than enough light left in the day for Rachel to glimpse him. He was looking right in her direction, not even attempting to hide his attention.

 _Sloppy_ , she thought as she stood again and continued on her way. She didn’t dare look back to try and catch sight of further details of the man.

When she finally made it to Alexander’s house, Rachel hurried inside. Setting the basket down by the door, she called out, “Alexander?”

There was movement in Alexander’s study, and then he appeared in the doorway, still wearing his coat. He had obviously not been home long. “Mama?” he replied, his eyes sweeping over her face. “Is something wrong?”

Dropping her reticule on top of the basket, she said bluntly, “There is at least one person watching the area already. The man didn’t even try to hide that he was observing me.”

Alarm crossed his face. “Were you approached? Did he make any threats?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “No. He stayed at a distance, remaining at the entrance to an alley several houses down from here, in the same direction as Mrs. Reynolds’ boarding house.”

A distant look crossed Alexander’s face. “Alley… the one between the Bolton and Main residences?” he asked. “There was a man there, thin, wearing a rather rakish hat.”

“You saw him?” Rachel didn’t recall anything about a hat, but she had only gotten a small glimpse.

“I think so,” he murmured, and then shook his head. “Mama, this feels more and more dangerous by the moment. Perhaps I should go alone this evening.”

Alexander was right – this was feeling more and more dangerous. It felt as though it was far more than a jealous, possessive husband spying on an unhappy wife. To Rachel, this all had the signs of an attempt to set up a blackmail scheme. Of course, that only made her more determined to see this business over and done with. They would not catch her son in their web, not while she drew breath. 

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I am going.” She gave him her sternest look, one he knew better than to argue with. When he looked set to try and argue anyway, she added, “In fact, why don’t we go now? There’s still a bit of light left, and plenty of people still moving about. No one is going to approach in the midst of a crowd.”

Alexander opened his mouth to say something – perhaps still to protest her coming along, perhaps to argue over leaving early – but then he closed it, actually considering her words. “That’s probably for the best,” he conceded.

Rachel was glad he agreed. If Mrs. Reynolds was a victim of her husband’s wretchedness, then she would now have the resources to flee to a safe harbor. If she was an opportunist looking to take advantage of Alexander, Rachel would do all in her power to prevent her from finding any purchase in him. 

“Give me a moment,” Alexander said then, stepping back into his study. “I just need to gather up a few things.”

She nodded. She had given him her share of the money that morning at the bank, and assumed he was getting that. Turning back to the door, she picked the basket back up, readying to leave the safety of the house. When she looked back towards Alexander’s study, though, she didn’t see him appear in the doorway. 

Confused and curious as to his delay, Rachel crossed the hall and looked inside. He wasn’t at his desk, but on the other side of the room, at the large cabinet where he kept various miscellanea. He had his flintlock pistol in one hand, while he loaded it with another. She inhaled at the sight. Surely he wasn’t…

Alexander looked up at her sharp gasp. A look of regret crossed his face, but it did not weaken his resolve. “It’s just as a precaution, Mama,” he assured her as he placed the pistol inside his coat. “These watchers have not proven violent, but their presence remains a threat, even an unspoken one. I would rather have the means of self-defense and not need them, than need them and not have them.”

They left the house together and found that the evening light was almost gone. She could see the lamplighters out in force, keeping the streets lit as the last of the sunlight faded. As they set off, Rachel kept sweeping the street with her eyes, looking for their previous-spotted spy. She saw no sign of anyone, even at the alley between the Main and Bolton family homes.

It wasn’t until they had reached Mrs. Reynolds’ residence that Rachel felt eyes upon her again. The spies must have pulled back to focus on the area around the boarding house. She squeezed her son’s arm in warning, and he patted her hand in recognition just before they stepped inside. 

The common room they stepped into was far from the worst Rachel had ever seen. There was a worn look to most everything there, but nonetheless the space was clean and tidy. There were several people about, most of them digging into their supper or deep in conversation, or both. Rachel did not see Mrs. Reynolds among them. A look in Alexander’s direction revealed that he did not see the woman either, and so they turned toward the barkeep. 

“Is Mrs. Reynolds in this evening?” Alexander asked the man.

The barkeep didn’t answer them immediately, instead eyeing them with a detached sort of curiosity. His eyes swept over Alexander first, taking in his rich clothing with a cynical, knowing air, but when he turned his gaze to Rachel, a glint of confusion crossed his face. Finally, he replied, “Upstairs. Second floor, third door on the right.”

Alexander nodded and flipped a coin towards the barkeep, who caught it with the ease of long practice. Rachel followed him up the stairs, the basket still held firmly in her hands. She could feel eyes on her back, but she did not turn around to meet them. Once on the second floor, Alexander led the way down the hallway, coming to a stop at the door the barman had indicated. He raised his hand and knocked.

Rachel could hear movement behind the door, and a few words murmured in a low, careful tone. Then footsteps approached the door and, with a turn of the knob, it creaked open.

Mrs. Reynolds appeared, wrapped in a dressing gown colored in a pale shade of pink that contrasted beautifully with the dark ringlets that cascaded down over her shoulders. Rachel felt her face heat up as she realized that in coming earlier the woman might not be in a state of dress to receive visitors. Though why a woman would be in her dressing gown at this time of day when she _knew_ visitors would be coming…

The sharp intake of breath coming from Alexander indicated that he too was thrown off-balance by her attire. “Ah, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, his voice a little higher than normal, giving away his discomfort. “Forgive us, we perhaps should have sent a note ahead.”

The young woman’s eyes swept over Rachel – and yet again Rachel thought she saw a flash of annoyance – before they locked onto Alexander. “It’s all right, sir,” she replied, her voice soft and quiet. She stepped back. “Please, come in.”

Alexander motioned for Rachel to proceed him into the room and she obliged him. As she entered, Rachel took in the room. Like she had seen downstairs in the common room, the furniture was old, but well-made and well-kept. A good-sized bed dominated the room, accompanied by a sturdy-looking armoire, a small secretary, and an armchair that sat close to the fire place. Rachel also noted that the corner of the room had been curtained off. It was only a small area, not large enough to hide anything significant, and yet she eyed it carefully. After a moment, the curtain shifted a little, and a small face peeped out from behind it.

So there was the daughter, young Susan. Rachel turned toward the secretary and placed the basket on the surface. There were papers scattered all over the desk, but Rachel didn’t dare linger over them or show any kind of interest, not with Mrs. Reynolds but feet away. Instead, she spoke up, “I’ve brought you several things that I hope will be of some use to you on the journey. Some dry goods to sustain you, as well as various sundries.” She reached into the basket and pulled out the rag animal she’d chosen. Turning to Mrs. Reynolds, she nodded toward the little girl still watching them all from behind the curtain. “May I?”

The younger woman nodded distractedly, her attention fixed upon Alexander. Because of the money he carried, or because of him specifically? Or perhaps both? Rachel didn’t know, but there was nothing for it. If the woman was out to seduce her son – which Rachel was fairly sure that she was – she could hardly drop that dressing gown and spread her legs for him with her in the room.

With that unpleasant thought in mind, she turned her attention back to the little girl. “Hello there,” she said warmly. “Are you Miss Susan?”

The curtain inched open a little further, and Rachel got a better look at the little girl. Dark head full of curls like her mother, but with hazel eyes instead of her mother’s blue. She didn’t answer, clearly wary of this old stranger in front of her, but Rachel didn’t let that deter her. “Your mama says that you have a doll, Missy May,” she said. “Does Missy May like to play?”

Susan continued to hesitate, but then she finally nodded. She leant back briefly, and then a doll appeared. It had, like everything else in the room, seen much use, but Rachel could tell the way the little girl held it that it was something she treasured. She smiled. “Hello, Missy May,” she greeted the doll, and then held up the rag animal, a dog to be specific. “This is Lucy,” she said. “She loves little girls and dolls. Would Missy May like to have a friend?”

Susan’s eyes lit up and a small, shy smile crossed her lips. “Yes. Missy likes puppies,” the little girl replied, her voice hardly above a whisper as she reached out for the toy.

Rachel kept her smile fixed, hiding the rising concern in her. Why did the child feel the need to speak so softly, as though she was afraid of making too much noise?

She might have learned more through her playing with the little girl, but Alexander’s voice suddenly filled the room, brisk and sharp. “Mother, it’s time we left.”

Susan flinched at the loud tone, shrinking back and letting the curtain fall to shield her. Rachel straightened and turned toward her son, opening her mouth to ask why, but then let her jaw snap shut as she took in the scene in front of her.

Mrs. Reynolds stood, her back against the wall, with her dressing gown having fallen open to reveal the pale, smooth skin of her neck and collar. One hand was pressed against her abdomen, while the other clutched a lump of money tightly at her side. Alexander had retreated from the woman, a hand held out in front of him as though warding her off, and stood by the door. His face was tinged red, and anger glittered in his eyes. 

A conclusion as to what had caused this scene came to mind, but Rachel did not voice it. Instead, she replied carefully, “Of course, dear.” She moved slowly toward Alexander, but paused as she passed the other woman, and said, “I wish you good journey, Mrs. Reynolds.”

There was no mistaking the glare Mrs. Reynolds sent her way, but Rachel did not react to it, instead stepping out of the room after Alexander threw the door open. He followed out on her heels, even slipping ahead of her to precede her down the stairs. He didn’t slow down when he reached the landing, didn’t even glance at the people staring at them in the common room, including the curious barkeep. He paused only long enough for Rachel to take his arm once they were out of the boarding house, and then set off at a fast, brisk clip.

Rachel kept pace with him as they strode down the street in the direction of home. Soon enough, however, Rachel’s energy began to flag. While she prided herself on being in good physical condition for a woman of her years, she was not as young as she once was. Matching the speed of a horse at a fast trot for any kind of distance was a bit much. 

“Alexander,” she gasped out, tugging at his arm, “please, slow down!”

At first, it was as though he had not heard her, or even notice her pulling at the sleeve of his coat. His dark eyes were fixated on the path ahead of him, and Rachel could see the fire burning in him. Then he blinked, and the anger seemed to bank as he glanced in her direction. His eyes widened and he obediently slowed his pace. “Oh, Mama,” he said, coming to a halt. “I’m sorry. Are you well? Do you need to rest?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, _mon cher_. Just try not to be in such a hurry.”

They resumed their trek, this time with a bit more decorum. As they walked, she finally asked, “Are you going to tell me what happened back there?”

She watched as Alexander opened his mouth to speak, and then close it again. His eyes darted one way and then another. He then shook his head. “Not here,” he murmured. “When we’re home.”

Rachel nodded. She didn’t glance around, but she didn’t think they were being watched this time. There was no one in front of them, lingering in the shadows of the buildings along the street, and they had not passed anyone since they had left the boarding house. Still, Alexander was likely right to be cautious. 

When they arrived back at the house, Rachel hung her coat up near the door and said, “We should eat. I’m sure I can find something for us in the kitchen.”

Alexander, also hanging up his own coat, cast an uncomfortable look in her direction. “I’m not particularly hungry, Mama,” he said, but when she raised an eyebrow, he added, “perhaps just some bread with a little butter?”

It would have to do. Now wasn’t the time to argue with him. 

After gathering up their food and placing it on a tray – the requested bread and butter for Alexander, and some left over pudding for herself – she took herself off to the study. She found him at his desk, but he was not yet hunched over his work, scribbling away. Instead, he was almost slumped in his chair, reading a letter he held in his hand. As she came closer, Rachel saw a pile of letters, mostly bound in a long, black ribbon. The one she could see at the top of the stack was addressed to Alexander in a familiar hand.

Eliza. 

Sitting the tray down on the corner of the desk, she spoke up quietly. “Alexander?”

He didn’t look up immediately from the letter. His eyes raced across the page, as if he could absorb the words written there into his very soul. One of his thumbs brushed over what she would guess was Eliza’s name, written at the bottom of the page. When Alexander did at last meet her gaze, Rachel was shocked to see how shaken he appeared.

“How did you know, Mama?” he asked her, his voice quiet.

She didn’t insult him by pretending that she didn’t know what he meant. Sighing, she admitted, “I didn’t know, really. Not conclusively. Not until you demanded that we leave so abruptly.” She frowned. “It’s hard to misconstrue a woman’s intention when she’s all but bearing herself.”

Alexander seemed to pull Eliza’s letter closer to his chest, clutching it like a talisman. He shook his head. “You warned me last night of the possibility that she might have intentions of… seducing me,” he said. “You must have seen something then.”

Glancing down at the tray, she took up the piece of bread, which she had laid on a small saucer, and placed it in front of Alexander. “Little things,” she admitted.

“Such as?”

“The difference in the way she behaved toward you and then toward me,” Rachel said. “Acting the coquette whenever she spoke to you, being so grateful for whatever word you directed toward her, and yet seemingly so impatient whenever I spoke.” She paused, nodding toward the bread and giving him a pointed look. 

Alexander obligingly picked it up and even took a bite of it. After swallowing, he asked, “Do you think she was lying then? About her husband’s behavior?” 

It was a question she had been asking herself. She shrugged. “That’s possible, but I don’t think so.” She shook her head grimly. “She showed enough of the signs of being a woman who has been… ill-treated. Her daughter’s behavior also indicated it as well – being afraid of speaking louder than a whisper, flinching at raised voices.” He winced, realizing that he had frightened the child in his haste to separate himself from her mother. Rachel continued, “The best lies often mingle with the truth. It makes them harder to see.”

Alexander nodded and continued to eat his bread. Rachel took that opportunity to take her pudding and sit down in the chair next to the fireplace. They ate together in silence, each lost to their own thoughts. As she finished her meal, she looked back over at her son. He had since finished with the thick slice of bread she had brought him, and his eyes were again on Eliza’s letters. Setting the plate in her lap, she sat back in her chair. She could tell her son had more to say, so she waited.

Still clinging to Eliza’s letter, staring at the paper as though it held all the answers he could ever require, he began to speak. “She was very grateful for the money,” he told her. “Kept calling me the most generous soul, and making other such compliments.” A grimace stole over Alexander’s features. “Then she lowered her voice – obviously so you would not overhear while you entertained her daughter – and suggested that I return ‘alone’ at a later time so she could thank me ‘properly’.” He shuddered. “Dear God, Mama, I think if you had not been there, she would have dropped that dressing gown to the floor right then. And with her child in the room!”

Rachel nodded, closing her eyes a moment. There it was, the final piece falling into place. Even if she already had a very good idea of what had happened when she had turned from little Susan Reynolds, now everything was laid out. “You did the right thing, Alexander,” she told him, opening her eyes again. “You extracted yourself from the situation. No one can question your honor in how you handled yourself.”

He finally looked up and met her gaze. She flinched at the despondent expression on his face. “I’m not blind to my own flaws, Mama,” he said, his tone barely above a whisper. “Today is the most clearheaded I’ve been in weeks, and it’s only because of your insistence that I rest last night.” His eyes dropped to the stack of letters on his desk, and he reached out, brushing his fingers reverently along the thin, black ribbon that held them together. “If you hadn’t accompanied us last night, she probably would have invited me back up to her room.” His hand convulsed. “And I can very well guess how I would have responded.” 

Rachel could hear the disgust in her son’s voice. Part of her, the part that loved her child, wanted to reassure him, to tell him not to dwell on what might have been, that he had not betrayed himself and, just as importantly, had not betrayed the wife he adored. But the other part of her, which also loved her child, refused to shrink from the reality of what Alexander had almost become entangled in. “She was looking for an easy mark,” she agreed. “And had she succeeded, it would have destroyed your life.”

She knew that from her own experience. 

Alexander looked up at her. He didn’t speak, but his gaze locked onto hers and did not relent.

Rachel gave him a humorless smile. “I know you, Alexander,” she said. “Your strengths, and your flaws. It is very difficult for you to admit when you are wrong, and more than once I have seen you tie yourself into knots in an effort to justify something you’ve done. It would have been no different if Mrs. Reynolds had managed to draw you into her bed. You would have done your best to brush it off, to call it a pass time, a release you could not get because of your wife’s absence.” Her hand curled into a fist. “All excuses that men have used for centuries, if they bothered with excuses it at all. And when Eliza returned, you would already be so used to getting… whatever it is you would have gotten from that woman. You would have continued, telling yourself that it did not matter, that you seeking her bed in no way reflected on your feelings or your respect for your wife. You would have convinced yourself that no one needed to know.” 

She looked at him. “But someone would have known. _She_ would have known, and given what we just went through this past day with people actually _watching and following us_ whenever we set foot out of doors, I am of the opinion that several other people would have known. And when a secret spans that far, there is no stopping it from going further. It would have spread like a brush fire, and sooner or later, your friends and enemies alike would have known. _Eliza_ would have known. It would not matter how the knowledge would have reached her – whether from your own confession, or from those who wished only to hurt you. She would have known, and it likely would have destroyed your marriage.”

Rachel took a deep breath. “Think about that, Alexander,” she ordered him. “Think about Eliza learning of your infidelity, had you fallen into Mrs. Reynolds’ bed. Imagine how she would have looked and felt.” She paused, taking in the naked horror on her son’s face. She then asked, “What are all of those excuses, those justifications, in the face of your Eliza’s pain?”

Her words hung in the air like the sharp scent of gunpowder. Alexander looked as though he was about to be ill. He took all of Eliza’s letters into his hands and held them to his chest. “Never,” he murmured, as though making a solemn vow. “Never.”

She nodded. “Indeed.” Her message had been received. It was one Alexander would not forget. She forced herself to speak more soothingly now. “But take heart, _mon cher_. This is what _could_ have happened, but it didn’t. You have not betrayed Eliza.”

He nodded in agreement, but Rachel saw his eyes skitter to other papers on his desk. She thought she saw a small flicker of emotion, but before she could consider it further, Alexander returned his attention to her. He asked, “How do you know all of this, _Maman_? You always said that you never loved Lavien. Surely…”

Rachel looked away, biting her lip. She had not wanted to bring up her own past, but this whole incident seemed determined to make her remember it. “No,” she said slowly, “I never loved Lavien.” She had, in fact, hated him. Hated him then, even hated him now, when she could be bothered to think of him. 

She could hear the frustration in Alexander’s voice when he replied, “Then who –”

She met his gaze when he cut himself off. What little color he had left in his cheeks was gone as he gaped at her. “Father.” It was a statement, not a question.

She had not wanted this, but it seemed there was little choice in it now. Alexander would not relent, not after all of this. “Yes,” she said shortly. Perhaps that would be enough.

Of course it wasn’t. He stared at her. “Father confessed to a… to _une liaison_?”

Rachel couldn’t stop a snort of bitter laughter. “Confessed?!” She shook her head. “Oh, my son, James Hamilton has never admitted to anything in his life.” It was one of his chief reasons for running, after all – to avoid having to confess to being a party to her ‘adultery’. “He did not have to. I saw the evidence of it myself.” When he looked about to ask for specifics, Rachel held up her hand. “Do not ask me to say more, _mon fils_. Let it go.” 

She had no desire to recount James’ feeble excuses when he came home covered in scratches and love bites that she had most assuredly _not_ put on his body. 

Alexander stared at her for several long moments, but then finally relented. He carefully placed Eliza’s letter down, retying the ribbon around them so that they were held together securely, and then placed them back in the top drawer of his desk. He then stared at the myriad of papers strewn in front of him. 

“What will you do now?” she asked him. 

He glanced up at her, and then back down as he took up his pen. “Get this damned bill through Congress,” he replied. “I’ll request a meeting with Jefferson and Madison, shove it down their throats, and then pull out whatever compromise we can reach.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow at his harsh language. Surely that was not all? “And then?”

Alexander took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “And then we will go upstate. I want to see my Eliza and the children, and visit with my sister before she returns to England.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had not expected that, instead had imagined that he would move on to some other grand, ambitious project that he had cooked up to create a stronger, more stable government. Rachel couldn’t resist a smile. “A fine plan, my darling,” she murmured as she stood up to leave him to his work.

“A fine plan indeed.”

It was just what they both needed.


End file.
